


in a corner

by MusicalDefiance



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt, Some comfort, Suicidal Thoughts, not feeling good enough, suicidal idealation, vent - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-08-07 08:15:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16404680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MusicalDefiance/pseuds/MusicalDefiance
Summary: He inhales once, slowly, and lets the thin icy air coat his lungs and burn through his chest, giving him at least some kind of feeling internally for the first time in what he realizes has been a good few hours. It hurts though, and if that’s the only thing that he can feel, he gets a flash of wonder as to why he bothers with it at all.There’s so many lights in this city. One burning out isn’t going to make a difference.





	in a corner

**Author's Note:**

> “I want you to notice  
> When I’m not around  
> You’re so fuckin’ special  
> I wish I was special  
> But I’m a creep, I’m a weirdo.  
> What the hell am I doing here?  
> I don’t belong here."  
>  _-Creep, Radiohead_

Ryuji’s never been at the top of anything.

His grades are shit, and they always have been. That’s honestly kind of a given. He’s never really been one to stay on top of his schoolwork, or even bother to do it at that. There’s always some kind of excuse in his head to go along with it too. “I’ll do it later,” “I just didn’t have time today,” “it’s not due till next week anyways s’not like I don’t have time,” but that doesn’t mean that it ever ends up on the teacher’s desk. Even when it does, it’s barely worth anything— amounted to work that a primary kid could do on a bad day. Back in those days it was even worse.

He doesn’t really fret over it that much, because he still manages to pass, right? Being ranked 254 out of 289 isn’t so bad, is it?

He’s not really artistic or musically talented in much of anything, and hasn’t really cared to try much as a result. He remembers there being some musical thing back when he was in grade school, some play or something that he’d wanted so badly to be a part of, but when he tried out the judges weren't impressed. He distinctly remembers one of them coughing under her breath and saying he was the worst sounding one so far. He’s pretty sure she hadn’t meant to say that in earshot of him, but he’d heard it anyway. They gave the part to a kid that routinely pushed him against the lockers on his way out to see his mom at the end of the day. He got to be one of the extras that walked around in the back.

He hasn’t sung much since then, but when he does on those rare occasions he tries to keep as quiet as he can.

Even in track, something that he feels like he should be his best in, he didn’t get to feel like the front runner he was for long. He was the star runner on Shujin’s team, winning first place plenty of times in the few meets he’d gotten to compete in, finally feeling like he had a place to call his own for the first time in his life. He had friends, he had accomplishments, he had dreams of taking it further and moving onto bigger and better things. But of course one little incident can change all of that in a moment’s notice. So now he’s the star of nothing, holding a trophy that means zilch and staring off at the dusty path of broken dreams that he’s no longer allowed to cross— only stare at it until it drifts into the void.

He tries to tell himself all the time that the only one he’d ended up failing was himself, but he knows that’s not true. He’s reminded of it all the time when he manages to catch a glimpse of his mom’s face in the reflection of all those damned medals hanging on his wall.

He should really throw them out one day. He’s really unsure why he hasn’t yet.

It isn’t like he doesn’t try, because he does. He tries to find the motivation, tries to find the belief that he can actually go out there and make a difference for both himself and those around him. He’s always been a bit of an attention seeker, someone who craves it deep down but is too ashamed to admit it to himself. So would he like to actually get a chance at feeling like he matters to everyone? There’s honestly nothing he’d love more. But he feels trapped anyways— trapped in all the shitty choices and mistakes he’s made in the past that have grown him into the shitty garbage person he sees staring back at him in the mirror every day.

There’s not really much of a point in talking about it either, and he’s had to learn that the hard way. School counselors and teachers don’t really give a shit, especially not when you’re just some troublesome kid mulling up their day. His mom’s offered him therapy once or twice too, but there’s no way in hell he’s going to take that money out of her pocket just because he can’t get himself together.

This is his fault, not hers. She’s not paying for anymore of his dumb ass mistakes.

Besides, he always thinks if he’d tried more, worked more,  _ cared more,  _ that maybe something,  _ anything,  _ would change. But he has nothing to show him that would be the case and he doubts that drive is going to magically appear in his brain anytime soon. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever. And if he’s honest, he doesn’t know if he has the capacity to care anymore.

Well, he does, but if he thinks about it too much all it does is lead him to places he doesn’t want to go. Places like the bathroom or the roof and he just—

His mom is home, he can’t do that to her. Not tonight.

The Phantom Thieves coming into his life is equal parts a blessing and a curse. It’s an outlet, somewhere he can take out all his anger and frustration with no one getting hurt along the way. He used to have to do things like that alone, waiting until his apartment was empty and he could find a spot in the wall that was easy enough to cover if a dent went into it. Sometimes the second step doesn’t have a chance to be pondered over, but if nothing else at least he tries.

Drywall and spackle aren’t that expensive anyways.

Akira’s stronger than him, which he has a hard time accepting at first, but soon enough they find a rhythm that Ryuji thrives on. Akira’s the leader, but Ryuji’s the force behind him. He’s the tank that barrels on through, making waves so that the rest of them can get a proper strike through the masses that stand in front of them. Without him there, they don’t stand as strong, and that alone is more than enough to keep him pushing forward. He’s the reason the rest of them can, rather than the reason they’re all being held back.

It’s nice having something to believe in again, something that he can hold onto and cherish, something that finally fucking matters to him. He puts every ounce of blood and sweat he has into just that, and at least in the beginning, he feels like it shows. He feels strong, powerful, like a ball of energy that can’t be stopped or taken down no matter how hard you try. He’s good at it, and  _ good fucking god _ he hasn’t gotten to feel like that in such a long time.

It takes away from every other aspect of his life, but he just can’t bring himself to give a shit. Because finally he’s in an environment he can control, one that he feels like he can be at the top of his game and no one can snatch it from him. As a Phantom Thief he gets to feel like he’s making a difference, like he matters, even if the whole world turns a blind eye to what they do and how they do it. Even if it’s all in his head, it doesn’t matter, because he’s the best at what he does when he’s doing that.

School doesn’t matter. Grades don’t matter. Friends and popularity and shit don’t matter. Even when Morgana gets on his ass or Ann chides at him for being reckless, they can’t take away from the fact that he’s still hitting the hardest and taking out the hordes that surround them like they’re all a joke. No one can take away the fact that he gets that small nod of approval from Akira tacked with that smile and the warmth of his hand clapping against him every time he does something right, and that fuels him like nothing else.

When he’s a Phantom Thief, he’s the best and he’s doing his best, and that’s really all that matters.

But he’s never been at the top of anything, and that’s not going to change just because of this.

As the team grows, he finds that so does a building animosity, trickling into his system like a slow drip IV injected straight into his veins. Before long he’s outbruted, outwitted, out-everything’d, and he hadn’t expected it to happen so damn fast. When Yusuke joins, he takes down shadows that Ryuji would never have had a prayer of doing on his own. When Makoto jumps in, it doesn’t take much for someone to be smarter than him, but she certainly makes her mark right off the bat. And it just keeps getting worse as more people hop into the bunch, pushing him further and further back into the corner where no one can hear him interject when he tries. And when he does, all it earns is silence or a lecture.

He doesn’t expect the pain he feels when he’s looked over for praise or validation. When those words of pride come out of Akira’s mouth and are directed at him less and less. It brings out something deep and harsh that he never thought he’d have stabbing into his gut. It shouldn’t, it’s not like he needs constant approval to go on, but having it and then losing it leaves a vice gripped somewhere over that soft part inside of him, tightening to the point where he’s sure it’s straining for its last breath.

He goes from feeling like the right hand man to the fifth one in the span of a few months. No one looks to him for advice, or for the strength he felt like he used to bare for the team. Instead it’s always someone else, either Akira or Yusuke or Makoto or  _ whoever _ . It makes him angry sometimes, and that doesn’t ever get much of a positive response either.

He looks to Akira when he’s in those desperate moments, unsure of what to think or do, just hoping that maybe he can see it in his face and give him that reassurance. He doesn’t ever seem like he has much of an answer though— Ryuji can’t expect him to be a mind reader.

He feels like quitting more than once. Why stick around if it doesn’t bring him those same feelings that it did initially, the reasons that he loved it so much in the first place? Back then it felt like more, something to risk losing his life over on a near daily basis if for nothing more than to get that sweet validation he craves more than anything. Now he doesn’t have that, doesn’t have the same burst of joy that he’d gotten before from taking down shitty adult after shitty adult and feeling on top of the world from it. Doesn’t have the group of friends rallying behind him and patting him on the back for saving their skins. Now all he has is yelling, distrust, anger, resentment, and being pushed back into the dirt where everyone seems to have wanted to keep him all his life.

He’s just not good enough. Not good enough to be a part of them. Not good enough to be a part of fucking anything.

What’s the point anymore? The world hates him, the team hates him, hell  _ he  _ hates him.

Grades get worse, school gets worse, life gets worse, he gets lonelier— it’s a cycle. He doesn’t know how much more of it he can take if he’s honest. He’s found thinking that as he stands on the tiny and rickety balcony that hangs off his apartment. He never goes out there, his mom always told him when he was a kid that she felt like it wasn’t safe, but on nights like these he doesn’t really care all that much.

When he looks out into the cityscape and sees all those lights cascading across Tokyo, all they remind him of are people that are more significant than him. They’re all individuals that have aspirations, hopes, dreams, and a sense of purpose. All things that day by day he feels like he’s losing.

Things like those grant you the will to live. He hadn’t realized how much he’d slowly been shedding his.

That thought makes him climb over and push off the railing with his scuffed up shoes, shivering in the October air of the night as he climbs onto the dinky roof that rests over the apartment complex. He hasn’t done it in a while,  _ a long while _ , but the familiarity of it is heavily discomforting yet grounding, and the only thing he can think is that he’s glad they live on the top floor so he’s not disturbing anyone else with his shuffling. He stands up there for a long moment, ankles tilted with the incline, and just balances himself against the wind as he watches all of those lights twinkle off in the distance. He can see them better from this vantage point, and any other night he feels like they’d be pretty to him.

He’d had the thought more than once that he ought to take Akira up here just to see them. He likes shit like that after all, and LeBlanc is way too close to the inside to get a good view, but he always has that voice in the back of his head reminding him that he probably won’t care. Akira has more important things to worry about than Ryuji’s dumb ideas, or his happiness. So does everyone else.

He inhales once, slowly, and lets the thin icy air coat his lungs and burn through his chest, giving him at least  _ some  _ kind of feeling internally for the first time in what he realizes has been a good few hours. It hurts though, and if that’s the only thing that he can feel, he gets a flash of wonder as to why he bothers with it at all.

There’s so many lights in this city. One burning out isn’t going to make a difference.

Before he can bother to move, to tip, to go off balance, there’s a buzz in his pocket. He’d forgotten that he’d taken his phone outside with him, and it surprises him and jolts him back to his senses, if only for a moment. When he takes it out he can see it’s a message from Akira, and luckily it’s short enough that he doesn’t have to use his steadily freezing fingers to unlock it.

_ October 29, 1:24 AM _   
Akira: Worried about you. Let’s hang out tomorrow, k?

He doesn’t know where the sentiment came from, or why for that matter, but it’s enough to bring tears to and streaming out of his eyes. Enough for him to sit his ass down before he does something more stupid than he already is and wipe his face with his sleeve, only just now realizing how cold it is out there and how much it  _ stings _ . But at least he’s coming back from the brink and into the cruel reality they’re all forced to live in, rather than the crueler one he builds himself at times like this.

It isn’t enough, and it may never truly be, but it is a reminder if nothing else. A reminder that someone cares, that there’s someone looking out for him, even if they can’t do it all the time. With just that alone, he can remember all the times Akira’s had his back. All the times Akira’s cheered on his name and given him a pat on the shoulder for a job well done, whether implied or physical. All the times Ryuji’s done his best to fight back when the world seems to be against him, and Akira’s been right behind him, ready to catch him if and when he falls.

He’s not going to have what he used to have, that’s all gone. He’s also never going to just rise to be the apple of everyone’s eye out of nowhere after all these years, no matter how much he dreams it. But he does have a friend. Hell, he has more than one, he knows that deep down, but one is all he needs right now.

Akira is his best friend, and he cares about him.

He doesn’t respond immediately, but at least he does at all.

_ October 29, 1:36 AM _ __   
Ryuji: sounds good man   
Ryuji: …thanks

_ October 29, 1:37 AM _ _   
_ Akira: Always.

His hands and knees hurt when he slides down the rough tile and onto the balcony, finding it far less trustworthy than he did earlier, but at least he’s on more solid ground now, in more ways than one. He’ll warm up in the shower and be right as rain in no time— a few scrapes and some shivers aren’t enough to take him out, at least not for now.

Besides, he has plans tomorrow, he can’t do that to him. Not tonight.

**Author's Note:**

> Something I wrote as a vent because sometimes I'm just really tired of not feeling like I'm ever good enough for anything. I'm okay though, always better to let things out through a medium than let them consume you.
> 
> Stay strong and don't give up. People care about you and think you're more than enough, even when you don't.


End file.
